On Namine
by Mana Angel
Summary: Drabbleish: Xaldin minds the newest Nobody in their midst. [preRoxas]


Done, originally, as an RP app for the prompt 'thoughts on Namine' 

Except it blew out of proportion, so, so much for that!

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**On Namine**

He had never particularly cared for children, even when he had a heart; now, with the conspicuous lack of one, he was hardly surprised to discover that he cared even less. Despite the unusual circumstances by which the Organization came by their newest member-- if she could be termed as such, for she had been given neither number nor name--he could not find it in himself to acknowledge anything beyond the simple, inarguable reality of her existence. She was, to all appearances, a Nobody, and she was now in their possession. These, so far as he was concerned, were the only facts that mattered.

Any potential significance she might have had for their cause was something he preferred not to contemplate: not out of reluctance, but the awareness that his mind was better applied to other, more practical concerns. There were others to handle the tedium of theory and postulation. Experience built over two lifetimes dictated that any sort of speculation was best left to the intellectuals of their group, to the schemers and the academics and their ever-effluent Superior.

It was better not to insinuate oneself between such minds, when they were at work. The crackle of ideas being lashed back and forth through the air, faster than any physical spar, had a tendency to produce enough of a static charge to rival one of Larxene's fits, ready to snap at the unwary. An unspoken danger lay in trying to worm one's way into the midst of any of their discussions, jargon and rhetoric forming as effective a barrier as any guard spell.

The dragoon knew better than to try. Madness could be catching; he wasn't arrogant enough to assume that he possessed an immunity to their particular brand. Instead, he chose to turn his attentions to one of their understated but no less pressing concerns: namely, the upkeep of the girl. The elder Nobodies were well-experienced in ignoring the most pressing demands of their bodies, but Xaldin-- regardless of his disdain for the company of children-- was familiar enough with what it was like to be a child.

In other words, constantly hungry.

When he fetched her from the room she'd been so gracelessly left in and sat her firmly down in one of the chairs of the dining table, in front of a trayful of food still steaming from the kitchen's heat, the plain gratitude on her face was almost painful to see. He was glad to see it disappear when she occupied herself with wolfing the meal down, bread and broth and hot milk sliding their way down her throat in quick succession. As per the past few times he'd done this, she gave no more thanks than a hasty nod-- he'd yet to hear her speak aloud, although V had confirmed that she was capable of it.

The dragoon kept his hands folded behind him, staring politely off to the side and far back enough that his presence didn't intrude on her senses. From what he remembered, having someone hovering behind him had done much to put off his appetite. In this case, he could only assume the same would hold true for her.

This close, Xaldin could sense the oddness that sent IV scrambling for his notes on the heart and VI back to absently toying with the metal puzzles he'd abandoned for games of the mind-- a habit to clear his head.

The girl was off in a fundamental way, as if someone had taken the idea of a Nobody and made it take a step forward and a turn to the right. She was one of them without being one of them; every nerve in his body told him so in no uncertain terms. All Nobodies, regardless of their origins, had a common link to bind them together. They were all born of Darkness, in one form or another, their current selves formed out of will (in Vexen's case, III suspected spite) and the refusal of the body and soul to dissipate without a heart. It was that lack that tied them to one another.

In a sense, then, even the lowest Dusk had a kinship with Xaldin: when he summoned his dragoons, it was that emptiness he drew on, the specific shape of loss that he used to pull them to him.

Where Xaldin had nothing, the girl had... something else. Not a heart, but not precisely an absence of one, either. Even the Dusks were aware of the disparity between her nature and their own: their tendency to disobey Vexen's orders were nothing compared to the simple, almost casual malice with which they teased the girl, winding around her in coy, shivering coils, jeering at her for her refusal to speak and easily startled nature.

They didn't dare approach now, of course, with the lancer beside her, but their whispers were still audible all throughout the length of the hall. Xaldin chose to ignore them, but he could feel the girl pause, the rate of food making its way to her lips slowing down.

Her voice was so soft that he had to lean forward, straining to hear it.

"Who am I?"

The dragoon had no answers.  



End file.
